


fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well

by Valeks_princess



Series: s8 if the cw weren't cowards [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Benny is struggling, But so is Dean, Grieving, M/M, Minor porn with plot, Post-Purgatory (Supernatural), benny/dean/cas are their own polycule, but it's mostly plot, s08e01 to s08e06, there is some porn, ye be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:34:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29627784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeks_princess/pseuds/Valeks_princess
Summary: Fresh out of Purgatory Dean and Benny must find a way to navigate between their loneliness and grief, off balance around each other on Earth, neither fitting in topside with instincts suddenly outdated and too vicious, too dangerous. Hating themselves and unaware of the other's feelings they must figure out how their relationship is going to work out, torn between two different worlds and weighed down by the loss of Dean's angel.
Relationships: Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, mentioned Castiel/Dean Winchester, vague Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester/Castiel
Series: s8 if the cw weren't cowards [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2176893
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well

Dean woke in silence, eyes flying open and fingers tightening their grip on his weapon, gaze searching for the threat he knew was out there. He was alone, and the world was dark. Dimly, he realised that he was cold, and felt himself shivering, clutching tighter to the wicked obsidian blade in his hand as he pulled his jacket and stolen backpack tighter around himself, wincing at the burning pain pulsing in his forearm. Somehow, it was dark, truly dark, and he’d grown so used to the perpetual grey light of Purgatory that he didn’t know what to do with it. Dean started walking, reaching out with over-honed senses as if he could see in the pitch-black world around him. Distantly, he heard the sound of voices, dropping into a low crouch and baring his teeth. _Danger, danger, threat_. He ached to move, itching to lash out and slice through the enemy before him. He forced the impulse down, clenching his fists tight. The road, he was almost near the road. Ahead there were people, _people_ , and he was alone. Dean didn’t let himself stop moving, didn’t let the maelstrom of grief raging in his heart rise up to consume him. For the first time in almost a year, Dean was alone.

* * *

When Benny opened his eyes, it was to see Dean. The man looked ruined, coated with dirt and grime so thick that Benny could barely see the human underneath. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers, and let Dean help him up and out of his grave. The grip was familiar, tough and battle-scarred, and Benny felt himself relax. That was when the smell hit him. Overwhelming, overpowering, lucious and so, so alluring. Benny felt his mouth water and the prick of his fangs burn against his gums. He could hear the blood pumping in Dean’s veins, could smell the stench of sweat and dirt and pure, living blood. Suddenly Benny was dizzy, weak, desperate, and it wasn’t until he felt scraggly, dried grass against his palms that he realised he’d fallen to his knees. In an instant Dean was kneeling in front of him, hand on Benny’s shoulder, close, too close. Benny forced his eyes shut.

“Benny man, you okay? What do you need? Did something go wrong with the spell?” 

“‘S not, isn’t, ugh-” Benny groaned, half-collapsing until his forehead was pressed into the shoulder of Dean’s jacket, face instinctively turning towards the human’s neck, saliva flooding his mouth as he nuzzled into the dirt-crusted expanse of Dean’s throat. He couldn’t resist, nose sliding over the skin covering Dean’s carotid artery, jaw clamped shut to keep himself from biting down. “Been a while since I ate is all, brother. ‘S overwhelming”. Instead of pushing him away Dean wrapped his arms around the vampire, holding him so tightly that for a moment Benny felt his head clear and he noticed how Dean was shaking. And then Dean was standing, drawing him up on unsteady feet. 

“Got some bloodbags in the truck,” he said, steering Benny over to a rusted out pickup, “coincidence really, stopped for fuel next to a red cross transport van. Ducked inside when they weren’t watching.” Somehow, Benny felt himself grinning. Fifty years may have passed but he was sure that was still illegal, and it was so, so Dean to not even blink at what was required to take care of those he cared about. Somehow, Benny felt himself falling a little more in love with this man.

“Where’s your angel anyway?” he asked, reaching into the truck and fumbling with a plastic cooler. He didn’t miss the way Dean’s entire being tensed.

“He didn’t make it,” Dean said, gruff and haggard, reaching past Benny to help him with the blood. His face could have been carved in stone for all the expression he showed, and Benny almost didn’t believe him except for the smell of grief so palpable in the air.

“No,” it was little more than a shocked exhalation, and Benny didn’t realise he’d spoken until he saw the sheen of tears in Dean’s eyes. “Dean-” he reached out, but the man stepped away, turning his back to the vampire.

“Eat and c’mon, there’s a motel a couple miles back”

“Dean,” Benny said again, unwilling to drop it, but Dean just slammed the door of the truck and gunned the engine.

Later, when Dean had materialised a stolen credit card and Benny had managed to stop gawking at everything long enough for them to secure a room for the night, he brought it up again.

“Dean, the angel, what happened?

“Benny I don’t-”

“ _Dean_ ” he said, reaching out to grab the man’s shoulder, turning him to face him. “What happened?”

“I- I said I don’t want to talk about it!” he snapped, shaking off Benny’s grip and storming through a connecting door, slamming it behind him. Benny gave him a moment before following, finding Dean naked in a white tile room.

“I-I- Dean?” he stopped, staring. The room was so, plain, so utilitarian. Dean laughed.

“Things a bit different since the 60s?” Benny nodded wordlessly. “C’mere,” Dean said, beckoning him closer, shepherding him into a clear glass shower. Benny shrugged his clothes off obligingly, tossing them onto the floor beside Dean’s own, until the two men were naked before each other. Dean turned on the water, the both of them flinching at the gentle warmth. Around them, the muck and grime of Purgatory drained away, washed clean. 

It was Dean who spoke, face turned away from Benny’s gentle gaze. 

“You remember up until we zapped your soul into my arm right? Well we found the portal, it fired up right on queue, I thought- we thought-” Dean’s voice broke, eyes glistening even with the steam blooming all around them. Benny ached to reach out and comfort him. He may have had his differences with the angel, once, but the three of them had reached an understanding side-by-side underneath the grey-dusk sky of Purgatory and Benny had committed himself to the Hunter and his angel. “It didn’t work, it wouldn’t let him through. He was, he- he was holding my hand Benny, screaming my name. And I left him there. I was sucked through and Purgatory spat me out alone” Benny felt his face go slack, and knew grief to be colouring his own expression. Gone, just like that, snatched away without even a chance. And Dean, god Dean to have seen it, to have felt the angel’s hand slip from his—Dean’s guilt must be eating him alive. Benny moved forward, until Dean’s body was flush with his, and tipped the Hunter’s face up to meet his gaze, running the pad of one toughened finger over his cheek.

“Shh, you did what you could cher, Castiel knows that, he doesn’t blame you”

“It’s my fault, it is, I let him go. And he’s all alone down there, they’ll kill him Benny, the Leviathans will kill him and there's nothing I can do”

“Hush Dean, your angel’s gonna be fine, he was doin’ plenty alright on his own before we found him. He’ll get away, keep himself hidden. He’s a survivor.” But Dean was shaking his head, grief-stricken and desolate. 

“Why’re you doing this Benny? You never even thought that it would work”

“No, not at first, but Dean you always said that there was something pure about Purgatory. It’s not a place that corrupts. And after getting to know Castiel I can see that he is too. Sure he’s twisted and bent and I don't know half the stuff that you two’ve been through but Dean he’s no monster. There has to be a way, and we’ve just got to trust that your boy’s smart enough to find it” 

“Benny I don’t-” But the vampire had seen enough self-flagellation to recognise it when he saw it, so instead he just pulled Dean closer, wrapped his arms around the other man and pretended he couldn't tell when he started sobbing, clutching tight to Benny’s body and letting the water wash away his tears. 

* * *

* * *

Around them, the night was dark, a soft, gentle grey warmed by the distant overflow of marina lights reflecting against the calm sea. The air was smooth, supple, soaked in the tang of fresh brine and enveloping the two men in its embrace. It was nothing at all like Purgatory, and Benny couldn’t hate it more. Once, he had lived for this, found his high in the kiss of the salt night air against his face after a round of killing, but the lives of his brothers and maker rested heavy in his hands, and Benny was desolate. Why had he ever left Purgatory? Why hadn’t Dean betrayed him? Why had the man brought him back to this life, fed and bathed him and sheltered in their grief together if only to subject him to this. He knew why, of course he did, once Benny had won his grudging respect it never would have occurred to Dean to betray him. The man was too loyal, too steadfast to ever consider abandoning a friend, no matter what. But still, a part of him needed to hear it, needed to know there was a reason he’d had to watch his Andrea’s memory warp before him, watched her die again at Dean’s hands and been gladdened for it, that he’d done what Benny never could. It sickened him, the whole thing made him sick, and Benny wished he was back at the start of his fifty years in limbo rather than have to process what had happened.

“Why’d you do it Dean, why’d you resurrect me?” There was something pained in his features, and Dean felt himself go weak at the despair in the man’s eyes, drowning in his gaze. For too long Benny had been his strength, something solid he could cling to in the madness of Purgatory, and now Dean felt himself adrift, floating aimless in a sea of his own loss. And suddenly he was drowning, choking with it, struggling for air, for something to center himself on, lost in a way he had never known, brain struggling to turn over the complexity of life topside after the purity of Purgatory. As much as he had suffered a part of Dean had revelled in it, had bloomed amongst the madness, learning to love the all consuming _hunt-kill-live-thrive_ that had become his every moment, his whole existence narrowed down to the constant thrumming of adrenaline in his veins and the creeping restlessness spurring him on whenever he slowed. And he _had_ thrived, slicing and dicing through half of Purgatory with an efficiency that had made him feared, made him notorious. Every inch the hunting machine his dad had trained him to be. He’d always known himself a monster, and his time in monster heaven had only proved it. He wasn’t ready to face it, would probably never be ready. So Dean Winchester did what Dean Winchester always did when it came to confronting unwanted feelings, muscled through with bravado and deliberate, willful ignorance. 

“Benny, you good man?” But Benny had never gone to the _Winchester School of Repressing Feelings_ , and he wasn’t about to let Dean brush this under the rug, not when he was choking on loss so fresh and raw that it burned, not with Dean, when Dean had been the first person to selflessly have his back in his whole immortal life. Not with the woman he thought he’d loved and mourned and put to rest perverted and dead again before his eyes. He’d thought he’d known what he was coming back for, to revenge the memory of the woman he’d loved, but that memory was as dead to him now as the woman herself, and Benny wished he’d never been resurrected at all. Dean should have betrayed him, should have left him dead and rotting. It’s what Benny deserved. There was nothing for him here, and he’d been a fool to think there ever had been. 

“What was the point,” Benny’s voice was broken, desperate and haggard and Dean felt the echoes of it in his heart. He knew that pain, had lived with it for more years than he cared count. The grief in Benny’s eyes was overwhelming, ageless and all-consuming, and so so familiar. “She was my everything, my Andrea, she was my hope. She was my hope for a better future, a better life Dean. And he killed her, turned her, made her a monster just like him,” Benny’s voice eddied like the waves around them, brushing against their boots, and Dean drummed his fingers against the side of the tinny, feeling lost and useless against the depth of Benny’s pain. He still hadn’t spoken about it, he realised, hadn’t put words to the grief that had been stewing in his heart since him and Benny had parted ways in Louisiana, the absence of Cas by his side an aching wound he hadn’t been able to bear. “She enjoyed the killing Dean, liked it, my ol’ man made her just like him”. Dean shifted, uncomfortable, feeling his friend’s words wedge themselves against his heart. That was him, that had always been him, hadn’t it? And Dean understood, he did, but Sam had left him _for a year_ and Cas was _gone_ , Dean had _let him go_ and he refused to let the same happen to Benny. 

“Get in the damn boat, Benny. I’m not just going to let you sit here and torture yourself” 

“Dean-”

“I mean it Benny!” Dean snapped, eyes burning and mouth twisted into a frown. Benny recognised the expression. This was the Dean that had slain half of Purgatory and put the fear of man into most of the _other_ half, this was the Dean that had looked him dead in the eyes and insisted that they find the angel first, that had brooked no argument about taking Cas through the portal if it killed all three of them. This was the Dean that snarled in his face and made his blood run hot, the Dean that had kissed him the minute they'd been free of the Leviathans, murmuring praise and gratitude into his skin, forced him back against a tree and sworn that they were brothers now, family, and that he had Dean’s loyalty for saving Cas. Benny got in the boat. There was no arguing with this Dean, he’d come to know. This Dean was insurmountable, fierce and beautiful and determined, loyal beyond measure, Benny’s own avenging angel shining with razor-edged intent. This was the Dean that he’d thought would doom them both, chasing after an angel that didn’t want to be found. The Dean that had saved him. 

Slowly, the boat pulled away from the shore, picking up speed until the island that held so much was little more than a faint smudge in the distance. It was Dean that spoke first, voice gruff against the speeding lull of the waves all around them. 

“I won’t let you do this to yourself Benny, you’re all I have left”

“Oh I feel that brother” but the crude, dark humor fell flat against the force of Dean’s glare, and Benny fought back a snarl tinged with fang. He was angry, angry at the world, angry at his maker, angry at Dean, for being there. But mostly, he was angry at himself, and Dean knew it too.

“C’mere” he said, softer, kinder, and Benny was helpless to resist. So Benny moved closer to Dean, until their shoulders were touching, and let the weight of Dean’s body ground him as they faced the dark horizon side by side. When Dean turned to face him, it was with all the inevitability of the distant shore and all the promise of the far-off sunrise. Their lips met without thought, Dean reaching across the distance between them and Benny collapsing into him, drawn forward by the gravitational force that was Dean Winchester.

The kiss was soft, gentle, and Benny felt some harsh, cuel, self-destructive part of himself relax, melting against Dean. When they finally pulled apart the fire in Dean’s eyes was softer, muted, and Benny felt a lazy grin splay against his face.

“What was that for?” Dean flushed, sheepish, suddenly shy. What had been unremarkable in Purgatory was suddenly taboo topside, weighed down with a lifetime’s baggage and self-hatred. 

“You’re family man, ain’t gonna let you go down that road, not if there’s something I can do to stop it.” Benny laughed. 

“Dean I really got questions about your definition of family, you tell your pretty boy angel you love him like family too?”

“I-” But Benny was done playing, stewing in his grief and going for the jugular in more ways than one. 

“Answer me this Dean, what is family to you?” Dean drew back, face tight and eyes dull. 

“Family is everything, it’s everything dammit, you can’t not see that”

“I just killed any family I ever could have had” and that, _that_ made Dean angy, because how could he _think that._ So Dean snarled, arcing up against the man by his side, kissing him again, sloppy and harsh. Their teeth clashed, fingers digging bruises into each other’s skin, pain edging out any enjoyment either of them might find in the kiss. They parted, panting and angry, with the dock and the distant outline of Sam Winchester dawning before them. Dean moved to the prow without a word, lips swollen and eyes dark. Benny followed his lead, bringing the boat alongside the dock in silence, killing the engine and watching Dean’s brother stare him down.

The man was tall, dark hair long and framing his face, brushing against the tips of his shoulders. A solid, muscular wall, towering over Benny, moving with surety and purpose, stern and so clearly taking his issues with Dean out on the unknown man by his brother’s side. Benny smirked, unafraid and unconcerned. The man is Sam Winchester, and once Benny had wanted to meet him. Now though, his regard for Dean’s brother was so low as to be nonexistent. So this was the man who thought himself so much better than Benny’s closest friend, who had been the reason Dean called him the day after they’d parted, numb and distraught in equal measure, voice still tinged with disbelief as he repeated over and over, unable to accept the truth that _Sam had moved on_ , and _Sam had left him there, Sam had never even tried to look for him._

Dean stepped forward, off the boat, putting himself between Sam and Benny. Benny just let his smirk settle deeper into his skin, sidling past Dean. Once he’d wanted to meet the Sammy Winchester Dean talked about as if he’d hung the moon. 

“I’m Benny,” he said, reaching out a hand to the other man. “Heard a lot about you Sam.” The instant their skin met Benny knew Sam knew what he was. The man stiffened, face going tight, and Benny knew he was reaching for a weapon. He didn’t move, some part of it hoping for it, waiting for it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dean, shaking his head with warning in his gaze, warning that spoke of swift and violent retribution, even against his own brother. It seemed Sam Winchester was less of a moron than he could have been, despite leaving his brother stranded in Purgatory for a year, and he stilled at the sheer venom of Dean’s look, leaving Benny’s vague half-thoughts about suicide by Hunter unfulfilled. Benny couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or resigned, but it was clear that his time with Dean was done.

“I can see you two have a lot to talk about” he said, and pushed past the man, Sam, who once Dean hadn’t shut up about. There had been two constants to Dean in Purgatory, _where’s the angel?_ , and _Sam_. There hadn’t been a single moment, not one, where his faith had wavered, and for a long time Benny had hated him for it. And then Sam had let him down, and it had broken Benny’s heart. 

  
  


* * *

* * *

Dean woke up with a scream locked behind his teeth. Heart racing, pulse in his throat, blood shrieking at him to _move_ as he thrashed himself free of the mess of motel sheets chaining him down. He hit the floor and popped up in a crouch, ready, eyes wild and searching for the nearest threat. Sammy had barely stirred. Dean’s breath ran ragged up his throat, lungs _tight tight tight_ with the effort of keeping his breathing even, of keeping _quiet_ because he was a _target here_. Where was Benny, where was Cas– 

Cas. Dean’s world came crashing down around him and he opened his eyes to a dingy motel room, washed out early morning sun pushing pallid rays through the ratty old blinds, chasing away the flickering neon shadow spelling out VACANCY across the ceiling. Dean’s hand was halfway to a bottle of jack before he stopped, picking up his phone and staring at the screen, thumb hovering over Benny’s name. A part of him wanted to call, wanted to hear the elder man’s voice, smooth and husky as finely aged malt whiskey, but the larger part of him was plagued by shame and guilt, hyper-aware of Sam asleep across the room. It was clear that Sam had a problem with Benny, though whether that problem was due to the fact he was a vampire or that Dean had come back from Purgatory one friend richer when Sam had lost his Amelia he couldn't say. They’d barely spoken since that night at the docks, and if Dean didn't feel so sick to his stomach every time he even looked at Sam maybe he would've said something. But he couldn't get over it, couldn't stand acting like nothing had happened, like Sam hadn't just written him off and moved on with his life. Didn’t Dean deserve better? Hadn't he _earned_ better? So no, Dean wasn’t going to bring it up. He stuffed his phone into his pocket, only just then realising he’d slept in his jeans and flannel, ready to have to run. 

By the time Sam woke Dean had gotten them both breakfast from a diner down the road, and was chowing down on a cardboard tray loaded with eggs, bacon, tomatoes and pancakes. The food wasn't the best, was a little on the soggy side, with bacon too crispy and eggs underdone, but Dean didn't care, scarfing down the meal as if he hadn't eaten in months. He hadn't needed to eat in Purgatory, not really, but when he’d popped up he’d been ravenous, his body painfully skinny, and he hadn't left a plate without wiping it clean since. Sam just looked at him, perturbed by the way Dean was eyeing the egg and bacon roll he’d bought him. Finally, he sat down, rescuing the sandwich from Dean’s attention. 

“So I found us a case,” Dean said, words coming out garbled around a mouthful of food. He didn't bother wiping his mouth. Sam just glowered at him. “Okay seriously, what crawled up your ass and died?” Sam just shook his head. 

“What’s my problem? What's _your_ problem! You haven't said a word to me since Prentiss Island? And now, what? You want me to shut up and ride shotgun and act like nothing happened?” Slowly, Dean put down his meal. 

“You want to talk about Benny? Fine. Let's talk.”

“Okay,” Sam snapped, hackles raised. “How about he's a _vampire?”_

“He's also the reason I'm topside and not roasting on a spit in Purgatory. Anything else?”

“Don't pretend I don't get it. I know you had to do what you had to do down there-.” Dean snarled, gripping the edge of the shitty motel table and resisting the urge to launch himself at Sam. Instead he scoffed, well and truly angry now. Sam wanted to do this? Fine, Dean could play the blame game just as well as his brother. 

“I highly doubt you get anything about Purgatory”

“But you're out now, and Benny's still breathing. Why?” For a moment Dean wanted to ask if Sam would rather him not be breathing either, but he didn't, couldn't because Sam had _left him there_ and some questions Dean didn't need answered. He couldn't understand, physically couldn't comprehend what had caused the change in his brother? Did loyalty mean so little to him? For how long? How was this the same Sam that had defied Heaven, destiny, the devil, and the fate of the universe by Dean’s side? Who was this person and what had he done to Dean’s brother. Dean’s brother would have _looked for him._ Once Dean would have sworn that nothing would have stopped him, so what had changed?

“He's my friend, Sam.” When he spoke his voice was plaintive, hollow and weeping. How could Sam not see? 

“And what about my friend, Amy? You sure as hell didn't have a problem ganking her” Dean’s eyes narrowed. Sam’s kitsune friend had been _killing people_ and Sam had let her go. Hell, it wasn’t even Dean’s fault because Sam had never even _told him_ what he’d done, he hadn’t _known_ to let the murderous kitsune live. Benny wasn’t even killing people! But of course Sam didn’t care to see the difference. He hated Benny on principle, and at least no small part because of the sting of Dean’s closeness with the vampire after he'd lost the woman he loved to her not-dead husband. 

“Well, I guess people change, don't they? We let that werewolf Kate go”

“She was different. You think Benny's different? He tell you he's not drinking live blood or something?” The answer was on his face, clear as day, and Sam was taken aback by the sheer faith in Dean’s eyes. It reminded Sam of the sheer blind obstinance Dean had whenever it came to Cas, but Cas had earned their trust. What had this vampire done, short of manipulating Sam’s brother into thinking he wasn’t a monster? The brother Sam knew never would have believed that act for a second! “And you believe him. Wow. Okay. You know, you're right. People do change.” 

“Yeah. I got a vampire buddy, and you turn your phone off for a year.” Sam had left him, _left him_ , and didn’t even seem to care. 

“Don't turn this on me.” Dean huffed, because yeah _of course_ this was about Sam. Sam who had _left him_ yet was too busy pining over Amelia to realise what he’d done.

“Look, Benny slips up and some other Hunter turns his lights out, so be it.” He wouldn’t and Dean knew it, why couldn’t Sam just _see_ that? Why couldn’t Sam just trust him?

“But it's not gonna be you, right?” and Dean could’ve hit him. Sam had had everything he’d ever wanted and he wanted to take this away from him? Dean had had one serious relationship in his life and look how that had ended, between Sam and John he’d never _never_ been able to have what he had with Benny with another man, and now Sam wanted to take it away? Sam had had a whole year sitting on his ass not _caring_ that Dean was fighting for his life every _second,_ just happy that he was _gone_ and had taken all his _crap_ with him, saved the world and wrapped an apple pie life right up in a neat little bow. Who cares what happened to Dean right? He fisted the soggy cardboard tray in his hands, standing so suddenly that his chair spun and hit the floor with a clatter. He turned towards the door.

“You coming or not?”

* * *

Benny was over halfway back to Louisiana when his phone rang. It had taken some time, but eventually he’d begun to miss home, feeling small in the face of restless longing. Sure Louisiana may not be how he remembered it, but it was a better place to start than Prentiss Island. The ringing continued, and the vampire dug the portable device out of his pocket, still strangely disconnected from the idea of a portable phone that was so small, so widespread—just one of many things that left him feeling lost, adrift, out to sea alone with no one to lean on. He didn’t know why he expected things to be the same, didn’t know why he’d even wanted to leave Purgatory. What was there for him on earth? Not his Andrea, hell even Dean had left him on his own, an outcast from his own kind. Benny hadn’t been alone in his whole immortal life, he couldn’t stand the loneliness eating him up inside. He checked the Caller ID. Dean. Benny answered the call.

“How are you brother?” he drawled, hoping Dean couldn't hear the grief clogging his throat. 

“B’ny” Instantly Benny was concerned, leaning forward as if he could see the man on the other end of the line. The voice was thick, ragged, and Benny had never heard anything like it from Dean’s throat.

“Dean?”

“‘M fine Benny,” Dean’s voice slurred, not reassuring in the slightest. 

“Dean”

“Said ‘m fine”

“Don’t lie to me, chief”

“Benny”

“ _Dean_ ”

“Alright fine!” the man snapped, voice rough, weighed down with unshed tears. “It’s just, it’s all gone Benny, it’s all gone, everything’s different. Sam aint ‘imself and Bobby’s still dead and Garth thinks he can replace him but he can’t no one can he’s _Bobby”_ there was the sound of sloshing liquid and then Benny could hear Dean’s throat working as he swallowed down a long pull. Benny’s voice was infinitely soft when he replied, and Dean felt himself melting, collapsing inwards into a puddle of grief, his heart a solid lump in his chest, frozen over and sending ice cold shards of pain through his veins. 

“Cher, are you drunk?” 

“So what if I am Benny? What’s it matter anyway?” His voice broke, and Dean felt molten heat swell in his eyes, overflowing as he began to cry, shallow hiccuping sobs racking his chest. What was the point of it, what was the point of anything, it had only been a year just one year and everything had changed. Cas was gone, and he was mourning, because Bobby was dead, he was dead and the world had moved on but _Dean hadn’t,_ because he’d been in _Purgatory_ , and _no one had cared_. No one _understood_.

“Oh I feel you brother,” Benny said, something wry and sardonic creeping in past his concern, and Dean realised that Benny _did_ understand, because Benny had popped back up and the whole word was different, fifty years had been and gone and his maker had still fucked him over one last time. And Dean began to laugh, because what else was there to do. Look at the two of them, so much the same and yet so off balance with each other without Cas, struggling to play by different rules and hating every second of it. 

“Thank you,” Dean said seriously, taking another long swig despite knowing it was a bad idea. “You always know what to say.”

“Where are you Dean?”

“Kearney, Missouri. Working a spectre gig” a moment’s silence, and then.

“It’s a nine hour drive, I can be there by tomorrow afternoon if you need me brother”

“I don’t- I don’t- Benny?”

“Right here, mon cher.” 

Dean wanted to say no. He thought of Sam in the motel room behind him, Garth trying to patch things up between them, trying to be _Bobby_. Both of them Hunters who Dean didn’t want seeing this side of him, didn’t want them _knowing_ about what he had with Benny. Dean wanted to say no, but he didn’t. Instead he thought about it, truly thought about it. Benny had saved Dean more times than either of them could count and that had won him the benefit of the doubt, but going out of his way to save Cas? That had won him Dean’s trust. What he had with Benny was bigger than Purgatory, it was something he wanted he was sure of it, something independent of Cas. He’d already lost one man he loved, he didn’t need to lose Benny too. And god, how must Benny be feeling? If Dean had thought it’d been bad for him what about _Benny_? At least Dean had Sam, and Garth, and Kevin, and Jody, and a world he knew—Benny had none of that, just his grief and his confusion. And Dean had been letting him bear it alone. 

“Yes,” it was barely audible, Dean’s head hanging, chin tucked into his throat “please” 

“Alright chief, I’ll be there”

“Benny?”

“Mhm?” 

“Be safe”

* * *

By noon the next day the spectre had been put to rest, the trio of Hunters weathering the aftermath in separation, Garth attending to the coin and the brothers Winchester stewing in the aftermath of the spirit’s rage. Dean’s own words rang in his ears— _You should’ve looked for me when I was in Purgatory. Those aren’t mistakes, Sam those are_ choices _. I never once betrayed you, I never once left you to_ die _. You left me to_ rot _in Purgatory. Benny’s been more of a brother to me this past year than you’ve ever been! The only person that hasn’t let me down is Benny!—_ and as their wake washed over him he missed more than ever for Benny by his side, for Cas, for the peace the three of them had found together, that nebulous thing that had become more and more solid. Him and Cas had never spoken of it, but something had been there for years, simmering between them, drawing them together like magnetic poles. It had taken Benny’s grounding presence to root that tenuous connection, that profound bond, into something solid, something real, something Dean could touch, that let him touch _Cas_. And then Dean had let him down at the portal, and it had all come to this. 

Sam was still stonewalling Dean, and that was fine, because soon as the trio went their separate ways he was making his excuses to Garth and scowling at Sam, getting into his car and heading out of town as fast as he dared push the limit. Benny called him barely fifteen minutes later.

“Where you at brother?”

“I’m on my way”

“I’ll be seeing you soon then. Turn off at the one-oh-five, I’m at a little place just off the interstate. Room ninety-six” Dean grinned as the line went dead, and rode the accelerator just that little bit harder.

* * *

The Impala’s door slammed behind him and Dean couldn’t even bring himself to care, heart in his throat and pulse spurring him on as he stalked over the gravel lot toward the motel. Room ninety-six wasn’t hard to find, and it wasn’t until he reached the door that Dean hesitated. What did he think he was doing, ditching his brother and Garth, selling them some half-baked story about hitting a bar and wanting to be alone, rushing out of town to meet his vampire buddy who’d driven a quarter of the way across the country because he’d called? 

_I will always come when you call, Dean_. The memory was as swift as it was unexpected, Cas’ voice and the shadow of his presence surging too quickly for Dean to guard against, reaching out to choke him from where he’d locked his guilt and longing away deep in his chest. Dean scrunched his eyes up tight, helpless to do anything in the face of his grief. Unbidden he pictured Cas’ face, screaming, his hand outstretched and slipping from Dean’s. He didn't know if it was a memory or his imagination, the moments surrounding his escape from Purgatory were hazy at best, little more than shattered snatches of images his brain had managed to latch onto in the whirlwind, but it felt real enough to him. Dean choked back a sob. His fault, it was his fault. If he’d just held on, if he’d just been stronger maybe he could have dragged Cas through, could have _made_ it work. Lost in his grief Dean barely noticed the door opening, barely noticed Benny’s own expression melting first into understanding, then commiseration. 

“C’mere, cher” Dean let Benny tug him inside, let the elder man draw him into a solid embrace that somehow felt grounding instead of suffocating. Dean breathed in deep for what felt like the first time since they'd parted. 

Somehow, they ended up lying side-by-side on the bed, facing each other on top of the worn hotel duvet. Dean let his eyes drift closed, truly relaxed in Benny’s presence, body content to trust the vampire to watch his back. For his part, Benny stilled too, the restless ageless sense of loss and loneliness that had been his only companion for too long now briefly balmed by the comforting warmth of Dean. 

“I don't know how you do it,” Dean said, after a while, having turned introspective in the silence. “I just can't cope. It's all too much, too different. I keep wanting to jump out of my skin whenever I sit still for too long, want to take the head off some punk who looks at me sideways”

“Truth is brother, I don't. Sure the control’s there, I ain’t about to take a bite out of some joe walking down the street, but that's not really new. This time ain't suited to me chief, I got nothing holding me here, nothin’ ta live for” 

“That's not true,” Dean frowned. “You’ve got Earth, a chance to have a life, downtime where monsters aren’t gunning for your hide. The sun and people and the little things man, cheeseburgers and booze and a chance to go fishing, feel the grass beneath your feet and just live”

“Yeah, I guess so” it was clear the vampire didn’t believe it, but it was also so, so beyond Dean’s capacity to fix, so Dean Winchester did as he always did and ignored it, rolling off the bed and into a ready stance in a single fluid movement. 

“Whatever man, I’m gonna go wash up”

Moments later Dean was alone, resting his head against cool tiles and taking a moment just to breathe. It was too much, it was all too much and he felt so, so helpless. He closed his eyes, shrugging off his clothes by rote and letting his mind still. He turned the shower on, flinching as it ran too cold for a moment before warming gradually, cascading over his body and washing away his sins. He opened his eyes, unsurprised to see a thin trail of dried up spectre gunk trickling into the drain. What did he even think he was doing here, rendezvousing with a vampire with Sam sulking and Kevin in the wind? Did he think he was helping anyone, allowing himself to have this, to enjoy it? Did he think having something selfish for once in his goddamn life was going to do anyone any good? But just as Dean’s self deprecation was beginning to spiral towards disgust and hatred a gust of cold air caught him, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Benny at the door, hesitating. 

“Got room for one more, chief?”

“For you?” Dean smiled, expression caught somewhere between sultry and genuine affection “always.” So Dean stepped to the side, giving Benny room to sidle up behind him, pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder and jostling Dean out of the way of the spray, tilting his own head back underneath the water, shaking out the strain of nine hours on the road. Even for a vampire that was no mean feat, and Dean appreciated it, he truly did, so he let Benny close his eyes, watched water stream down his face, and couldn't resist leaning in for an open-mouthed kiss, grinning as the water poured off Benny’s face and over their lips. Gradually, they closed the distance between their bodies, until they were flush from their chests down to their knees, Benny’s head coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder. Dean hid a smile in the curve of Benny’s neck, arms coming to bracket the heavyset cajun leaning his full weight against him, pliant and relaxed. Dean bore the weight easily, and didn’t miss the way Benny’s solid fingertips began trailing over his skin, tracing the outline of his rippling muscle. Dean laughed, halfheartedly batting at the other man’s hands.

“Aren’t you tired, man?”

“I am, but it ain’t often I got you here, like this, an’ I’m more than willing ta take advantage.” A part of Dean wanted to turn him down, wanted to stew in his grief and bitterness, but Benny was right, it _wasn’t_ often that they got to see each other these days, and Dean missed it. He could feel Benny’s body against his, his solid thighs and rapidly thickening cock pressed up against Dean’s own. He couldn’t find it in himself to say no, so Dean let himself be manhandled backwards, until he was pressed between cool glass and the overwhelming heat of Benny’s chest. Rough, wiry hair scraped against his skin, catching against his own, considerably smoother chest, and Dean shuddered, feeling the vampire grin against his neck, teeth oh so gently grazing over sensitive skin, lips nibbling against the juncture of his shoulder in a way that had him shivering. Benny’s beard slid along Dean’s skin, water from the shower easing the way ahead of the tongue lathing against his skin, slowly setting Dean’s veins aflame. Benny’s hands dug into his hips, his body sliding against Dean’s own, both glistening with water and steam. Arousal burned within Dean, simmering palpably in the air between them as Benny got a hand around Dean’s dick, jerking and twisting in a way that had Dean’s hips involuntarily bucking forward, chasing more of that contact. He groaned, long and deep, twisting his head to muffle the noise in his shoulder. Benny chuckled, catching Dean’s chin and twisting Dean’s head back to face him, leaning forward until Dean’s cock was pressed between their stomachs, lips finding the shell of his ear. 

“That’s enough of that, cher” Benny growled, “wanna hear all y’r beautiful noises” and hell if that didn’t have Dean blushing to the roots of his hair. And yeah, Dean lived for this, loved the thrill of being able to get out of his head, to trust someone to take care of him, give him that release, but there was a part of him chafing against the gruff command, aching to lash out. But Dean swallowed it down, trying to ease himself into the headspace where he could lie back and take it, could relish being _owned._ In front of him, Benny was getting to his knees, grinning hungrily up at Dean with water streaming down his face. Dean couldn’t resist reaching out to grip at Benny’s short hair, egging the man on as Benny gripped bruises into the edge of Dean’s hips, bringing his lips to Dean’s cock. Dean let his head fall back, against the glass wall of the shower he suddenly realised was holding him up, eyes fluttering closed as Benny worked, wicked skilled fingers and tongue like lightning against sensitive nerves, lighting his veins like tinder. Benny chuckled, throat working around Dean, vibrations echoing throughout Dean’s body as blood pooled low. He couldn’t resist groaning, fingers aching to press into Benny’s scalp, to urge him on as he swallowed Dean down. Everything started to build, blood burning within him, pressing outwards as everything got tight, the two of them moving together, pressing, pulling, grinding, Dean’s breath coming in short pants, eyes scrunched closed as his fingers trembled—

And then, Benny moved, pulling off Dean and standing faster than his addled brain could comprehend. The noise that escaped his throat was inhumane, a helpless whine, strung out and desperate. _That motherfu–_ Dean ground his teeth, trying to quash his anger. He knew what Benny was doing, usually relished it, but sometimes Dean just wasn’t in any mood to submit, and now was looking pretty likely. Dean was just glad Benny didn’t mind which way they did this, had never professed a preference either way. So Dean _moved_ , conscious of the tight quarters of the motel shower that really hadn’t been designed to accommodate two burly men, twisting until he’d grabbed Benny’s wrist in an iron grip and had the man pinned against the tiles. Dean’d spent a lifetime hunting Benny’s kind, and he knew what kind of force he had to exert to keep a fang pinned. Benny’s breath caught in his throat, startled by the sudden movement, and no small part relishing the feeling of being trapped, held immobile by a human when he’s usually so used to his superior strength. 

“You mind?” Dean asked, nipping at Benny’s ear in retaliation for earlier, grinding against the other man’s exposed ass, pressing him tighter against the wall until Benny answered, voice breathy with arousal. 

“Don’t mind at all chief, you do what you gotta”

“Good man” Dean grunted, not oblivious to the way Benny’s cheeks flushed a dark, unnatural red, stained with lust. So Dean held Benny down, sucking swiftly fading hickies into his skin, his own hands roving across the vampire’s body, flicking across his nipples and twisting at his leaking cock until he was whining, begging and shaking apart in Dean’s arms. 

“C’mon cher, _more._ Stop _teasing_ ” Benny’s voice was thin and breathy, damn near close to breaking. Dean chuckled, dark and merciless and Benny tried to lever himself back against Dean, to get closer, to get at Dean’s dick. The Hunter moved, twisting, straining to hold the struggling vampire down. Dean bared his teeth, vicious and his fragile control snapped. A part of Benny, the animalistic, inhumane part of him, turned belly up, entirely too aware he was trapped in close quarters with a lethal predator, who had slain hundreds of his kind and would be the end of countless more. His breathing turned shallow, wary, as his hindbrain begged him to move, to run. And Dean—Dean who had been bottling it up since Purgatory spat him out, angel-less and drowning, choking on instincts that had no place in this world—didn’t bother trying to force back the impulse to rut against Benny, to bite down on the flesh of his shoulder and bend him over, grateful for Benny’s foresight in preparing before Dean had arrived. Dean moved with purpose, economical, not a single action wasted as he slid home, a bundle of barely constrained savagery and a finely honed of deadly intent. It was times like this where Benny was hyper-aware that he was far from the only predator here, far from the only one vulnerable to the whims of the other, if things had been like that. 

“ _Arête ca,”_ Benny groaned, but Dean was relentless, completely without mercy as he pushed Benny closer to the edge, hitting all the right spots without anything approaching hesitation, making the vampire curse and scrabble for something, anything, to hold onto, shaking apart entirely according to Dean’s will. 

Eventually the two collapsed into each other, boneless, supporting each other as they rinsed themselves clean of sweat and spunk, half-stumbling back into the main room, naked as the days they were born. The bed sunk under their combined weight and Dean tugged the blanket up over them both, tucking his head under Benny’s chin, settling side by side, safely cocooned in each other’s arms. Together, they slid into sleep.

* * *

In his dreams Dean’s back in Purgatory. The world is grey around them, washed out monochromes blurring the edges of reality, wiping away the need to eat, the need to rest, exacerbating that wild, animal thing in his chest that Dean had always tried so hard to hide. Here, he could unleash. Here, he was relentless, merciless, a goddamn hunting machine. Here, everything was pure. Dean grinned, lithe, predatory, and thumbed Benny’s cheek, that one tender moment betraying how much he’s come to care for the vampire kneeling before him. And then the moment was gone and Dean’s grip turned rough, forceful, and he shoved the vampire down onto his front, pressing his face into the dirt. Benny grunted, and Dean smirked, lowering himself down onto the other man with intent until suddenly he’s moving. It's aggressive, furious, like nothing at all Dean has ever brought into the bedroom topside. It scares him, a little, how easy it is to take what he wants from someone willing to give it. His chest thrums, _alive alive alive,_ desperate and gleeful all at once, and yet in his heart he’s still. His heightened awareness is focussed entirely on Benny, on his body, on the feel of him against Dean—the thick, heavyset of his frame, the wide, solid pressure of his hands, the beautiful way he holds himself, how he looks folded under Dean’s body, skin on skin and desperate, writhing in the dirt. His hands dig deep into Benny’s skin, and Dean knows that if the man had been human he’d be bruised already. The thought sent a deep, illicit thrill through Dean’s body that he refused to think about too closely, but he did lean up to fasten his teeth around the side of Benny’s neck, scraping over his carotid in a mocking facsimile of a vampire feeding. The vampire beneath Dean thrashed, helpless, mindless with pleasure as a human mouth sucked hickies onto the skin of his throat. The marks would fade all too soon, but both men would remember their presence, and it made Benny’s blood burn thick to think of Dean marking him up, claiming him as something important, something he cared about, something to be protected. And damn if that didn't arouse Benny all the more, until he was panting in the dirt, leaking against his stomach, because it wasn't an empty threat either—no Dean Winchester was just as dangerous as everything else in this place, worse even, because Dean in this moment is an apex predator given free-reign to slice and dice his way through monsterland. So Benny gasped, grinding his ass back against Dean’s length until he was shaking, shuddering, overcome and supported only by Dean’s solid grip pinning him down. 

Dean woke gasping, aching and tangled up with Benny. His mind came back to him slowly, and for a moment he just lay there panting, desperate to rut against the solid heat of the man by his side. Instead, controlling himself by force of will alone, he buried his head in his hands, shaking. It had been too real, and the shreds of the dream still clung to him, phantom heat and throbbing arousal burning in his veins, the image of harshly, aggressively fucking Benny into the dirt of Purgatory seared into his brain, staining his mind with the phantom feel of Benny’s body against his. It was so real he could almost taste it, could almost convince himself it was a memory, that they had shared carnal relations in the muck and the dirt of the endless killing-fields of Purgatory. 

They hadn't, of course, but that didn't mean Dean hadn't thought about it, didn’t mean that the dream hadn’t been recycling past imaginings. Not at first, obviously, but eventually as suspicion had given way to grudging trust and then something more, until Benny was Dean’s lifeline keeping him afloat, giving him something to hold onto as the depth of missing Cas had crashed over him, threatened to drown him, until Benny had become something like a friend. 

And then, once Dean had grown close to the man, only then had the lust crept in, easy as breathing until Dean was lost in its wake. But still, they’d never crossed that boundary, certainly not in Purgatory and not since, not when the absence of Cas was such an open wound, sapping any desire for something more. The closest they'd ever gotten was after reuniting with Cas in Purgatory, when Benny had gone out of his way to save Dean’s angel and Dean had lost control, that thin thin wire that held him back from the monster’s he hunted not snapping so much as _shattering_ , as Dean threw Benny backwards against a tree with something manic and ferocious in his eyes, swearing his loyalty not in so many words and so, so desperate to kiss him, breathing his lips in like oxygen. Cas had just looked on, bemused, and had gently drawn Dean away, letting Benny get his bearings as the Hunter beamed. That night the three had found a fallen rock shelter and come together in a tangle of bodies, curled up with one another for warmth and the comfort of contact more than anything else, one on watch while the other two slept, drunk on each other’s presence. Things had been awkward, almost, when it was Dean’s turn on sentry duty—Benny had been sure about his own feelings for Dean but awkward about whatever it had become clear was obviously going on between Castiel and Dean, and so very near to giving up—but the ragged, worn out angel merely closed his eyes in rest, and hadn't reacted to the presence of the vampire by his side. There had been no snuggling between the two of them, no romance or lust, but what there had been was understanding, acceptance, and camaraderie. Benny’s jealousy drained away in the face of the angel’s companionable acceptance, and the two of them slept, side by side, united in their care for Dean. The warmth it caused to bloom in Dean’s heart had nearly been overwhelming, and he’d been giddy with joy at the thought of the three of them getting out together, his relationships with both men coexisting, fully supported, and had been sure Cas and Benny would find true friendship in the other. But that had been before, before Dean had let them all down, and now that future was lost to them. And Cas, alone in Purgatory with the whole dimension out to get him—Dean choked back a sob, and Benny stirred, blinking blearily in the twilight. 

“You okay there, chief?” But he wasn’t asking, not really, which saved Dean from having to bullshit an answer neither of them would believe for a second. Instead Benny pushed himself up onto his elbows, reaching out to pull Dean towards him. The Hunter went willingly, easily curling up against Benny’s side, burying his face in the man’s naked shoulder as the sharp, tangy scent of his grief crested over them both. “C’mere cher,” Benny whispered in the semi-darkness, arms coming up to envelop Dean, hands smoothing along his bare back, gently soothing the distraught man. “It’s okay, let it out brother, you’re okay”. So Dean let himself sob, shaking apart with the force of his guilt and loneliness, burying his face in Benny as the man held him firm, supporting him, pressing a kiss to the side of his temple, nose burrowing into the Hunter’s hair. 

Across the room, from the pocket of a jacket hastily strewn across the back of a cheap motel chair, Dean’s phone rang. They were silent for a moment, and then Benny spoke, the familiarity of his cajun drawl caressing Dean like an embrace. 

“You gotta go?” But Dean just shook his head, clutching tighter to Benny, arms unyielding steel girders around his chest, needy and desperate, craving the grounding surety of Benny’s love for him. It was all either of them had left to hold onto, really—all that was left of them before the events of their return to reality, away from the equilibrium they had found in limbo. 

“I don’t want to leave you,” and god if that didn’t just break Benny’s heart. He wanted to call the Hunter out, wanted to tell him to stay. Hell, Benny wanted to go with him, join him drifting wherever Dean felt compelled to go. But he couldn’t and he knew it, they both did. Not only would Dean’s selfish hypocrite of a brother do him in, but Benny had no place in a Hunter’s world. And besides it wasn’t what he wanted, not really—sure he didn’t know what he did want anymore, but floating unattached from one horror to another wasn’t it. And Benny knew Dean couldn’t give it up, not between his guilt, overactive sense of responsibility and the fierce desire for bloodshed that had been carved deep into his core. Dean had a life here, had something he cared about enough to keep living for, and Benny knew he’d just bring him down. He had no illusions how his own chance at life was going to end, with him succumbing to his apathy in a bloody, needless death. So when eventually Dean got up Benny didn’t stop him, just let the Hunter press a chaste kiss to Benny’s lips and visibly shove his emotions down until they were under lock and key once more, hidden behind countless layers of steel defences. And then he left, heading back to a brother none the wiser, leaving Benny desolate and hopeless in his wake, staring after fading tail lights and slowly settling dust.  
  



End file.
